


Plus one

by RhinoHill



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: #vss365, F/M, First Kiss, Fun, Prompt Fic, Sexy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-07 20:53:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19217338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RhinoHill/pseuds/RhinoHill
Summary: She scoots out from under the bike, an offending bolt victoriously brandished. As her eyes travel up his body, they widen. As do his. She’s wearing nothing but a black tank top over her jeans. THAT tank top. From that day in the locker room when she kissed him in a way that still haunts his mornings. But the past three years have added details he doesn’t recall. The cut of muscle on the side of her toned belly, the way the fabric stretches across the rise of her breasts. The shimmer of wetness that her effort in the heat brings to her skin.It's going to be a long, hot Summer's day.





	1. Classic rock on a Summer's day

**Author's Note:**

> A tweet-length version of Jack's thoughts were originally written for the June 14 #vss365 prompt #bolt.
> 
> And it's the weekend after a hard week. So here's some totally unapologetic sexy fun. 
> 
> I hope it brings a smile to your day!
> 
> xo
> 
> \--oOo--

He’s half an hour early. He always is when he’s nervous. And he’s been nervous since she’d asked him to be her plus one at the wedding today. Particularly because he’d caught the blush that crept up her cheek as she’d feigned nonchalance when she asked him. “ _Old academy buddy, childhood friend, free meal, she was driving anyway but company would make the trip less tedious_.” He puffs out his cheeks and pulls his truck into her driveway.

Music beckons from under the half-open garage door. “Oh, oh oh oh, sweet love of mine,” Guns n Roses croons before the guitar solo kicks in. _Nice_ , he thinks as he ducks under the roll-up door.

Inside, the heat of the Summer day and the music both double in intensity. A super bike is jacked up on a slender platform and his major’s legs, clad in grease-stained jeans and dirty trainers, greet him. One knee is bent and bobs in time with the music, the other leg is stretched out long on the concrete floor. Her jeans hug her thighs in a way he’s very grateful her BDUs don’t.

 

Jack swallows. “Hey!” he tries, but his voice is drowned in a wailing chord. He leans forward and touches his palm to her bobbing knee.

 

“Be right with you!” There’s such complete ease in her tone that he freezes where he stands. Then her knee moves and he steps out of the way.

"Got it! It was tight, but I won."

 

She scoots out from under the bike, an offending bolt victoriously brandished. As her eyes travel up his body, they widen. As do his. She’s wearing nothing but a black tank top over her jeans. _That_ tank top. From that day in the locker room when she kissed him in a way that still haunts his mornings. But the past three years have added details he doesn’t recall. The cut of muscle on the side of her toned belly, the way the fabric stretches across the rise of her breasts. The shimmer of wetness that her effort in the Summer heat brings to her skin.

The blush that blooms from the top of her tank top, up her throat and into her face, is also new.

 

“Uh, hi, sir, sorry, I thought you were next door’s kid,” she apologises before her eyes double in size. “Shit, am I late?” Her non-bolt hand flies to her mouth, leaving a black smudge across her dimple. She bounces up and over to the hi-fi, turning the music down as she checks the time.

 

“You’re fine, Carter. I’m early,” he speaks to the bare skin of her lower back, forcing his voice to stay neutral.

  
  
“Oh.” She breathes, relieved. “Oh, okay. Um. Sorry about the garage reception. I guess I lost track of time.”

 

“Your bike okay?” he deflects as she turns around.

 

“Yeah, she’s fine.” Her eyes caress the sharp red curves and her face softens into her smile. “Just needs a little bit of TLC from time to time, especially if I’ve not had a chance to ride her.”

Heat chases through him at her words. His hands ache to feel the skin of her hips under them, to press her to the wall and kiss the sweat beading down her spine, to fold over her the way she would fold over her bike when she hugs the curves of an open road at speed. _Whoa, Jack. She’s on your fucking team, man_ , his brain screams at him. He lets out a sharp puff of air.

 

"What?" she’s turned, cocking her head so that her blond bangs fall away from her face.

Jack stares. What can he say about the sweat shimmering on her skin and the way he longs to feel the wet heat of it under his tongue?

What can he say when she looks like this?

 

“Seriously.” A small frown of worry creases between her eyes. “What? Do I have grease somewhere?”

 

Her question gives him a safe answer. Thank god. He steps towards her and lifts his hand to where the oil smudge sits dark against her cheek. “Yeah, you’ve got a little… here.”

 

The touch of his thumb on her skin sends a jolt of desire through him. She freezes, and a slow blush begins a chase from her tank top to her face.

“Oh.”

 

When his thumb reaches the line of her jaw and falls into the air below her chin, the back of her hand slowly traces its path. “Uh, I’ll go get cleaned up.” She twists away sharply, looking at the floor. “Come, come in. Please. Can I get you a beer while you wait? I’ll only be a few minutes.”

 

“I’m fine,” he says softly as he follows her through the door into her house. _No alcohol today_ , he thinks. _This is far too dangerous already_.

“I wanna lay you down on a bed of roses,” the music swells behind him.

  
Oh, for cryin' out loud.


	2. Black Velveteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She’s leaning against the garage wall when he ducks back out, eyes closed, basking in the sun. One knee is again drawn up and bobbing to a beat. A small, private smile plays on her lips. She’s humming.
> 
> She’s humming Black Velveteen.
> 
> She’s grinning at him when he straightens up again. “I love that song,” she muses. “It always gets me in the mood for the road. You don’t mind if I nudge the speed limit just a little?” she nods sideways at her racing green vintage Volvo.
> 
> “Nudge away, Carter. I’m in your hands today.”
> 
> As he watches her walk towards the driver’s door, he hopes she doesn’t realise just how true that is.
> 
> But then again, he wishes with all his heart that she does.
> 
> \--oOo--

He has sunk onto the armrest of her couch and is tapping his splayed fingertips together when heels click towards him on the polished wood floor. Delicate dark blue sandals wrap her feet below bare legs that seem to carry on for ever. Then he recognises the dress she wore to Daniel’s wake three years ago. A form fitting, sleeveless, silky drape of red roses on a midnight blue sky. Her makeup is understated, but enough to let a low whistle escape his lips before he has a chance to hold it back.

“Sorry.” He drops his eyes back to his hands and taps his thumbs nervously together.

Her chuckle melts the ice around his spine. They’re still friends. They’ll be able to get through today despite the way his heart thunders when he looks at her. He dares another glance. She’s looking equal parts amused and pleased at his reaction. Her fingers fit a delicate crystal droplet to her left ear, before she lowers her hands to her sides and straightens up.

“Ready to go?” she asks.

When they reach her car, the half-open garage door makes her nose wrinkle. “Damn,” she mutters under her breath before striding forward and starting to tug it down. The dress hugs her butt as she leans back and pulls against the weight of the door. _Oh, this is not a good thing to see before an hour of car-chat. DO something, or look the other way,_ his brain screams.

“Want me to duck in and shut off the music?” he asks as he strolls up behind her. He really hopes the same mix won’t be playing in the car. It’s exactly his taste in music, but somehow the songs are conspiring against him today and every lyric makes him picture things he shouldn’t be. “ _Black velveteen, supple and lean, 21st century dream_ ,” Lenny Kravitz purrs from inside the garage.

“Oh, thanks, sir.” As he’s halfway under, her voice stops him again. “Bring the CD along for the trip if you like the music.” He looks up at her from his crouch. Directly into smooth, toned legs and the hem of her dress where it skims her thighs. “ _…eager to please, she’s waiting on her knees…_ ” the music teases on.

_Oh, for FUCK’s sake! Did THAT image need to come up right now?_

“Sir?”

Shit. He nods his red face quickly and disappears under the door.

In the dark, oppressive heat of the garage, he rests his palms on her workbench and leans forward with closed eyes, forcing composure.

“ _It’s not a sin, just take her out for a spin_.”

He yanks the power cord out of the wall socket. In the ensuing silence, the blood rushing around his body sings in his ears. Slowly, he clicks open the CD player and pulls out the CD. Nothing can be as bad as his current earworm.

She’s leaning against the garage wall when he ducks back out, eyes closed, basking in the sun. One knee is again drawn up and bobbing to a beat. A small, private smile plays on her lips. She’s humming.

She’s humming Black Velveteen.

With far more force than necessary, he pulls the garage door down.

She’s grinning at him when he straightens up again. “I love that song,” she muses. “It always gets me in the mood for the road. You don’t mind if I nudge the speed limit just a little?” she nods sideways at her racing green vintage Volvo.

“Nudge away, Carter. I’m in your hands today.”

As he watches her walk towards the driver’s door, he hopes she doesn’t realise just how true that is.

But then again, he wishes with all his heart that she does.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear S/J unicorns, I’m afraid I just gave you an ear worm. 
> 
> Sorry...
> 
> Hmmm. Actually, I’m not. It’s an epic ear worm. Sam is right on this one 😉😁


	3. Aunt Edna

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack licks his lips and tries again. “I mean, I’m glad I’m here just for this ride,” a flash of a smile from her draws one of his own, and he almost stops. But a part of him needs to know. “But you must have loads of guys standing in line to be your plus one. Stands to reason there’s someone at the wedding you need help with.”
> 
> “Actually, there may be one person I need to warn you about. Aunt Edna. A close friend of my mom’s,” she continues. “ She, mm, took it on herself to find me a good man”. She permits herself one hand lifted off the steering wheel for the air quotes. “Including the groom.”
> 
> “Ah.” He’s still hunting for something witty and reassuring to add when she breaks in with a gentle chuckle.
> 
> “I toyed with the idea of bringing Teal’c just to see her reaction.” She tilts her head sideways, the way Teal’c so often does. A crystal earring catches the sun and sprays her face with rainbows. “But it’s a church wedding and he would have had to take his hat off.”
> 
> “Gotcha. I if I meet the fabled Aunt Edna, I’ll be a brooding, monosyllabic warrior alien.”
> 
> “You’re perfect as you are, sir,” she murmurs.
> 
> \--oOo--

Watching her handle the car around the sharp bends on the road into the mountains is like meditation. The way her hands move across the steering wheel, reaching fast and sure for the gears as she negotiates corners, the way her dimples deepen when she eases through a curve and pushes them back against their seats with the power of her acceleration. He’s only ever sat behind her in a cockpit. He’s never been able to see how manouvering a powerful machine makes her eyes shine with joy.

Eventually, he finds the will to break the spell. “So, Carter. Brief me. Who am I there to beat up?”

“Beat up?” She’s still caught in the thrill. She glances over at him with sparkling eyes and a smile that pulls her lips apart and lights her whole face. He’s never seen her looking so unselfconsciously beautiful.

She looks back at the road, gearing down for the next turn.

Jack licks his lips and tries again. “I mean, I’m glad I’m here just for this ride,” a flash of a smile from her draws one of his own, and he almost stops. But a part of him needs to know. “But you must have loads of guys standing in line to be your plus one. Stands to reason there’s someone at the wedding you need help with.”

To his surprise, the car has slowed right down. She seems to be manouvering a course through thoughts in her head before answering, her dimples tugging downwards in sadness.

“The SGC keeps us all pretty busy, sir,” she eventually replies softly.

“Ah.”

On the CD player, The Foo Fighters start playing and her eyes return to the road. In the silence, her features soften as her right knee resumes that gentle bob to the beat that he’s never seen before today and that he’ll never forget. He’s still twisted towards her from the conversation he unsuccessfully started. Her legs disappear under the dress just above the edge of the car’s leather seat. He imagines the imprint the embossed leather will leave on the soft skin of her thighs as he runs his fingertips over his own seat. He closes his eyes and refocuses higher up. A slender silver bracelet with the same crystal droplet as her earrings is her only accessory. So elegant in it's simplicity. So like her. His eyes run up her arms to her neck and her face. She’s quietly singing along, her voice barely there above the lead singer. “ _Breathe out, so I can breathe you in_.”

He sees her leaning up against the garage wall in the sun again, eyes closed. Sees himself taking her face in his hands and pressing his mouth to her lips. Breathing her in.

Clenching his hands on the leather, he twists away.

“Actually, there may be one person I need to warn you about.” Her tone may hold a hint of pain, but it’s tempered with fondness and a hint of amusement. His eyes snap back to her.

“Aunt Edna. A close friend of my mom’s,” she continues. “ She, mm, took it on herself to _find me a good man_ ”. She permits herself one hand lifted off the steering wheel for the air quotes. “Including the groom.”

“Ah.” He’s still hunting for something witty and reassuring to add when she breaks in with a gentle chuckle.

“I toyed with the idea of bringing Teal’c just to see her reaction.” She tilts her head sideways, the way Teal’c so often does. A crystal earring catches the sun and sprays her face with rainbows. “But it’s a church wedding and he would have had to take his hat off.”

“Gotcha. I if I meet the fabled Aunt Edna, I’ll be a brooding, monosyllabic warrior alien.”

“You’re perfect as you are, sir,” she murmurs.

For a moment, their eyes meet, then both look back at the road, silenced by the sudden honesty.

Sam accellerates hard, and the rest of the drive happens without speaking.

The wedding ceremony is touching, but short. The only way for them to be, if they’re going to happen at all. Jack can’t help but compare himself to the groom. Shorter than him, with a stockier build and dark hair. Kind of a weak chin. Also younger. When she’s turned away, he glances at her again. “ _You’re perfect as you are, sir_.” He wears those words like a secret talisman.

Before long, they’re finding their seats at the reception.

“You know any of these people?” Jack gestures with his glass of champagne at the other guests at the table. True to her word about driving, she had refused the champagne and takes a sip from a glass of water as she shakes her head. Jack has no desire to cloud his mind any further than the scent of her so close to him is doing already. She is wearing perfume today, he realises. It suits her perfectly. Light and dusky sweet. His champagne remains untouched while the small-talk and speeches follow on each other.

As the evening wears on, he finds himself wanting less and less for it to end. He loves the lilt of her voice weaving through the noise of crowd, the way her eyes smile in an unguarded moment. He’s also increasingly aware of the couple across the table’s interest in her.

Eventually, he develops a suspicion. A not unpleasant suspicion, but one he feels compelled to rescue her from.

“Carter,” he beckons her closer with a lift of the chin. As she leans in near enough to allow him to whisper, he asks: “the couple across from us, are they military?”

“I don’t think so, sir.” She’s close enough for her breath to heat his neck.

“Ah.” He places a hand softly on her wrist to keep her close. “In that case, may I suggest you call me Jack for the rest of the night? I…” he can’t stop the smile in his voice, hard as he tries. “I suspect they think you’re being kinda. Kinky.”

The spluttered cough that erupts from her almost doubles her over. She gasps for breath, half chokes on an inhale and dissolves into another desperate, gasping coughing fit. Jack’s hand is on her back, rubbing calm into the spasming muscles while he casts around for water. Between them, they’ve finished the jug. All that’s left near them is his untouched glass of champagne. He holds it close to her hands.

“Here, gentle breaths, little sips,” he soothes air back into her lungs with his voice and his hand. “Good. You’re good. It's all right, Carter. You're good. Gentle breaths. Good.”

Eventually, a shaking hand replaces his glass, half empty. “You okay?” he asks gently, leaning forward to catch her eye.

It’s as if something’s shaken loose in her. Her face is red from coughing, but her eyes are huge and dark. With longing.

“Sam?” he slides his hand from her wrist and wraps it around her fingers.

She pulls free and takes her clutch bag off the table.

“Excuse me,” she says without looking at him before stumbling to the ladies’ room.

His gaze follows her retreating form, the warmth of her back still under his palm, the longing in his own eyes every bit as sharp as hers.

—oOo—

Sam closes the door to the cubicle and leans against the door, blocking out the world. Her whole body is shaking. Her back tingles with the soothing warmth of his touch, she can feel his hand on her wrist and fingers, her leg carries the imprint of his trousers where they pressed into her.

He had no way of knowing how she feels when she calls him “sir” in private, how she longs for him one day to lean in close, just like he’d done, and whisper: “Don’t move a muscle, Major” before running his hands and mouth over every part of her until she moans and begs.

He’d hit straight on her fantasy, and his words had scratched away the careful layers of duty she’d wrapped around her loneliness. And then he’d rubbed her back, and held her hand, and called her Sam, and his care had undone her completely. And he’d seen. He’d seen straight into her. She has no idea how she can face him and pretend it hadn’t happened. A tear falls onto her hand. She hugs her arms around herself and loses herself to weeping.

“Samantha, dear! How do you keep getting more beautiful?” the voice rings out as she’s touching up her makeup in the mirror. As soon as she turns, Aunt Edna envelops her in a bosom full of hug. Sam smiles, grateful for the comfort of an old friend.

Aunt Edna leans back and takes in her face. “You’ve been crying,” she purses her lips. “Not about Cliffy, I hope. I mean, I thought you made a cute couple, but you were right, dear. You were far too smart for him.”

“No, Aunt Edna, not about Cliff. He looks really happy doesn’t he?” With a last glance at her mascara in the mirror, she clips her clutch bag closed.

“Happier than you, dear,” comes the pointed reply. “Is another boy making you sad?”

Sam presses her fingers to her lips, trying not to smile at her C.O. being called a boy, wondering how to give a satisfactory answer to the jumble of feelings bouncing around her chest. _Get as close to the truth as you can, Sam_ , her mother’s voice rings in her head. _Edna will know if you’re lying_.

Sam takes Aunt Edna’s hand between both of her own. “Actually, a - man - has just made me very happy. A, a friend. But I care about him. A lot. And…” The sparkle in Aunt Edna’s eyes negates the need to finish. The older lady claps her hands in glee.

“Well, what are you waiting for? Introduce me to this charming friend of yours!”

Arms linked, and saying a silent prayer of thanks that she’d thought to warn him about Aunt Edna, the two ladies make their way towards her table, and her colonel.

She can see his shoulders relaxing when he spots her across the room, his face melting into a gentle smile that sends butterflies chasing up her body. She releases a breath she didn’t realise she was holding and smiles back, shy as a sixth grader at a school disco. A raised eyebrow from him and a sideways pull of his head indicates the woman on her arm. Her smile broadens as she nods. They hold gazes as the women walk towards him through the crowded room.

Eventually, they reach his side.

“Jack,” his name feels strange on her tongue, “there’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

Jack stands up and holds out his hand politely before he is drowned in a lilac-scented hug. “Jack, is it?” Aunt Edna finally stands back and looks him frankly up and down. “Well, if I’d known you were capable of picking such good looking men for yourself, Samantha, I would have stopped picking them for you years ago!” Without pausing to notice either person’s reaction, Edna installs herself in the chair on the other side of Jack’s. Obediently, both sit down again.

“So what is it that you do, Jack?”

“Air force, Ma’am. We work together.”

“Aah, a pilot. Good choice, Sammy.”

Sam purses her lips. A minute ago, she was grateful for the diversion, but now she’s worried just how far Aunt Edna is going to push things.

Jack doesn’t miss a beat. “She’s a fine pilot herself, ma’am.”

Sam wants to hug him, but there’s no time because Aunt Edna is steaming on. “Well, of course she is! More awards at the academy than her father even! But such dangerous things are in the past for her now. At thirty-six, she’s much better off looking through telescopes and making time for babies.”

Sam’s splurted cough makes Jack swing around in alarm, hand protectively on her back. When he sees that she’s not choking, his frown eases into a slow, burning smile. Wordlessly, he hands her the rest of his champagne. His hand slides down her arm, feather-light, and comes to rest on her hand. With a gentle squeeze, he releases and pushes his chair back.

“Ladies, I believe baby talk is my cue to go get us all another round of drinks. Edna, what would you? Ah, wait,” he interrupts himself, tapping the side of his nose theatrically with a finger. “I think I know exactly what you would like. Let’s see if I’m right.” With a wink, he’s off across the room, Sam following him with her eyes and not hearing a word of Aunt Edna’s gushing.

Within minutes, he returns and hands a glass of liquid amber to Aunt Edna with the flourish of a sommelier. “A finest vintage port, with a touch of lemonade, for a fine lady with a touch of sweetness.”

For the first time in her life, Sam sees Aunt Edna blushing. “Samantha, dear, if you don’t hurry up and marry this one, I may steal him!”

Jack slides a glass of white wine in front of her and puts an alcohol-free beer at his own seat. At her frown, he bends towards her. “One day, you’re going to meet my version of Aunt Edna. And that night, I’m going to need to drink, and I’m going to want you to drive me home.”

He sees her lips parting and straightens up, slowing his thudding heart. _Steady on, Jack. You’ve just held her hand and told her you want her to meet your family. You’re her commanding fucking officer. This is dangerous!_ He knows his mind is right. He could be ruining their friendship, their team. _But the way she looked at him. And the feeling of her fingers in his hand._

“Edna, I am terribly sorry to be rude, but would you mind if I stole Sam for this dance?”

“Be my guest, dear. Ah, young love!” her voice trails after them to the dance floor.

 

 

 

 


	4. Surrender

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You dance?” She’s breathing high in her chest, reeling slightly from the turns.
> 
> He releases her back, and a flick of his hand around hers, so small she almost tastes it without feeling it, makes her turn and step away from him, echoing his move. They open away from each other like the pages of a book, before he pulls her in to him again. As his hand finds her lower back, he says: “So do you.”
> 
> He guides her feet away from his, and she has to wait before he steps back to her to answer: “I’m just following you!”
> 
> A little wink, and before he spins her out into another sideways step, his mouth bends close to her ear. “That’s what makes you such a good dancer.”
> 
> \--oOo--

She lets him lead her to the dance floor, her mind in turmoil. She’s good at handling emotions. If handling means drowning under work, punching out in the gym, soldiering through. She has no strategy for her hand in his. So she follows.

In the clutter of dancing couples, he shoots her a smile. Then his grip shifts and her hand is pulled up above her head. With a tiny twist of his fingers, he guides her in a slow pirouette.

She follows.

When she circles back to him, he twists her away again.

Another pirouette.

And then another.

And another.

Faster and faster she spins under his hand, until suddenly he stops her with his palm cupping her lower back. A smile plays on his lips as he leads her back two steps, forward two, a sensual sway that echoes the rhythm of the music.

“You dance?” She’s breathing high in her chest, reeling slightly from the turns.

He releases her back, and a flick of his hand around hers, so small she almost tastes it without feeling it, makes her turn and step away from him, echoing his move. They open away from each other like the pages of a book, before he pulls her in to him again. As his hand finds her lower back, he says: “So do you.”

He guides her feet away from his, and she has to wait before he steps back to her to answer: “I’m just following you!”

A little wink, and before he spins her out into another sideways step, his mouth bends close to her ear. “That’s what makes you such a good dancer.”

Every time she gets close enough to speak, he spins her out again, into a complicated figure of eight, a tight pirouette under his hand, a double-handed twirl. Around them on the dance floor people are slowing to stare at their poetry. But every time she leans in close, he leads her away.

Eventually, she tugs her hand out of his and clamps it onto his shoulder, forcing him close enough to hear her. His dance is a game, but she’s won this round. She’s captured his shoulder. 

“It does not make me a good dancer, it makes you a good leader.” Even as she she speaks, she realises the irony. She’s had to stop following him to tell him he was a good leader. Her shoulders start to shake with laughter.

His head drops to the side with a wicked grin. His free hand finds the back of her neck. In a heartbeat, she’s horizontal, grasping on to his shoulders with both arms, her legs between his as he bends her back into a graceful dancer’s dive. The room is spinning, but she’s safe in his arms.

“Careful, Carter,” his breath warms her throat. “Flattery will get you high.”

His arms around her tighten. He steps back and suddenly his hands on her hips have lifted her into the air, and she’s cradled close to him, high above the room as he spins her round and round. Flying in his arms.

Her head drops back, her arms release and she thrills in defying gravity.

His spinning slows. Strong arms start lowering her to earth. 

Maybe it’s because she doesn’t know the move. No matter what he says, she’s no dancer. Maybe she should have braced her hands on his shoulders and held herself away from him. It’s too late. The length of her body slides along the length of his, until her toes find the floor and her eyes lock on to his.

For years, she’s told herself to turn away. For the sake of duty. Out of fear. Because she just can’t believe she’s good enough for him. But his caring, and his humour, and the honesty of his desire pressing against her drowns out her insecurities.

Once tonight, she’s defied gravity in his arms. 

She can do it again.

She closes her eyes, and presses her lips to his.


	5. Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I want,” he swallows, “SO badly to be Jack with you. But because you have to follow my orders at work I never want,” he rushes on, he has to say it, clumsy as it sounds, “I CAN’T ever, EVER feel that I’m forcing you. That you don’t have a choice.” He’s breathing fast, not sure his words are making sense. “Sam, never. You’re in control. If you say stop, tonight, in ten years, EVER - I turn and walk away. Please.”
> 
> \--oOo--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ConnieN, because you ordered me to
> 
> xo

His lips part under hers. His arms form a shield around their slowly swaying forms. As she breathes out, he breathes her in. He holds her like a soap bubble in the wind. Around them, the music fades.

When another beat intrudes, he moves his lips. “Come outside with me?” he whispers against her mouth.

Behind a scrim of silence, they weave through the noisy room, fingers intertwined. Outside, the summer heat has finally broken into velvet night. He guides her off the path into the blacker darkness of the garden. Through the trees and out into a pool of moonlight, where he can see her face.

 

He turns to her, stepping close enough to feel her radiating heat. His face twists in the grip of tight control. His fingers trace the soft line of her cheek. “Sam, I…”

 

Damp dread claws at her stomach. _What have I done? What have I done? What have I done?_

She can’t bear the longing in his eyes, the way he’s holding himself back from her.

 

“Sam, because of … who we are at work…” he tries again, lips twitching as they grasp for words.

All blood drains to her feet. She twists her face out of his hand.

 

“I’m so sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to. I won’t let. I’m sorry.” She’s pulling away, the heels of her sandals sinking into the earth as she fights for freedom and for air.

 

“Carter, no!” his hands on her shoulders twist her back to face astonished eyes. “No! That’s not what I mean! God, if you knew how much I’ve wanted you…” His mouth opens around words that don’t form. Instead, he steps in closer. His body presses against hers, heat chasing heat. His right arm cups her back, his left cradles her chin, so that she has to see his eyes.

“I want,” he swallows, “SO badly to be Jack with you. But because you have to follow my orders at work I never want,” he rushes on, he has to say it, clumsy as it sounds, “I CAN’T ever, EVER feel that I’m forcing you. That you don’t have a choice.” He’s breathing fast, not sure his words are making sense. “Sam, never. You’re in control. If you say stop, tonight, in ten years, EVER - I turn and walk away. Please.”

 

Love, and lust, and wonder, twine triple flames around her spine and burst into her eyes. Through her tears, she lifts her hands to hold his face, not daring to believe that he won’t float away. Her lips linger on his, salty with her tears.

She looks at the man who makes her tremble with his touch, who can command her with a glance, who held back because he didn’t want his power to hurt her. “Thank you,” she whispers.

 

She can feel the boyish grin that tugs at the corners of his mouth, even though the rest of him remains gentle as a guardian angel. “Don’t thank me until you know what I want to do to you,” he growls, before he weaves his fingers through her hair and claims her with his kiss.

 

—oOo—

 

The room has quietened by the time they wander back, arms around each other, smiles on their faces. Aunt Edna has left them a note, demanding a visit for tea the next time they pass through her town. Or a wedding invitation. Sam feels as if her hand has never been anywhere but in his as they say goodbye to familiar strangers and walk back to her car. Deep contentment has settled in her bones. His kiss erased her loneliness. His promise bound them closer than vows.

 

“ _You’re in control. If you say stop, I turn and walk away_.”

They reach her car, and she hands him the keys.

 

“You’re sure?” he asks.

 

A single glass of champagne won’t impair her driving. But she suspects there’s something else he needs. He needs to know she _heard._ She presses her palm against his chest. “I’ll be watching you,” her nails trail upwards, finding the triangle of skin in the crook of his shirt’s neck. “If you’re not treating her well around the bends, I’ll say stop.”

 

Tenderness fills his eyes. For a long moment, he just stares at her, her fingers skimming the hollow of his throat, his hand wrapped around her car keys.

 

“Thank you,” he finally whispers, hoarse with emotion.

 

Her dimples dig into her cheeks, pools of shadow in the night. “Don’t thank me,” she winks, “Until you know what I think of your driving.”

 

  
He drives more slowly than she does. Not that he’s scared, but it’s her car. And she’s sitting it, twisted ever so slightly towards him in the filtered silver light of night. He can smell her in the air and taste her on his tongue. Every bend that brings them closer to her home makes his blood rush faster.

 

The scene is the most beautiful she’s ever seen. The mountain pass is breathtaking, dark rocks and jagged shadows parrying with sparkling water from the lake below. And his profile, serious and strong, and still so vulnerable. As he eases out of a curve and gears back up, she reaches over and captures his hand. Her fingers find the spaces between his, and she sighs.

 

Jack slows the car. She frowns, and tries to pull her fingers away, regretful for distracting him, but he holds her fast. He guides the car into a viewing lay-bye and cuts the engine. Then he releases her. The handbrake creaks with the force of him yanking it up and he’s up and out of the car.

 

Doubt crowds dark wings around her. As he strides from the driver’s door to her’s, she gets out, worry etched between her eyes.

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

In a single move, he slams her door shut and lifts her off the ground, pinning her against it, arching her head back over the roof. His arms encircle her, keeping her safe from the cold metal, but bending her back, so that her breasts press into his lips, warm and insistent through the silky layers of her dress. His legs thrust forward, hard between her thighs. Her dress rides up until her bare thighs slide against him. One hand pulls her head further back, the other tracks down her spine to cup her hips and push her further on to him.

“Ahhh,” she gasps as he thrusts against her, “God, sir, yes!”

 

_FUCK._

She freezes in terror.

 

But the small moan that escapes his lips as he presses in against her makes her realise that’s she’s not alone.

 

“ _You’re in control,_ ” his words echo in her mind.

 

She lifts one leg and curls it around him, throbbing in answer to his arousal. Her fingers feather the side of his neck, and her tongue follows. She stops below his ear and nips it, clenching her legs tighter.

“Sir,” she whispers, thrilling at the way the word makes him shudder. “Take me home. And fuck me in the moonlight.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not alone here, right? In the wake of Me Too, so many of us have stories to tell about the men who abused their power as if it were their birthright.
> 
> But.  
> Men are not all like that.
> 
> I dedicate Plus One to the beautiful, strong, sensual, sexy men who don't.
> 
> You are the original unicorns. Thank you for being you.  
> xo


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